Page 44 of Painted Truths

He's ambushed me, embarrassed me, and made me question my promise to myself repeatedly. The promise I'd made after his callous actions that I'd never again let my guard down for anyone. That same promise has kept me from making viable, romantic connections with another man for fear of being discarded and forgotten about.

For fear of feeling.

He continues to stand there for long minutes, his hand remaining on my trembling shoulder, my face still turned to the floor until I decide, enough is enough.

I lift my face and pivot my head until I look right at him. Green eyes on blue. An intense mixture of confusion, frustration, and resignation meets my teary gaze as his hand closes the distance between us so his thumb can reach up to brush a falling tear from my cheek.

"Come here, Peaches."

My teeth grit as his nickname sends a shock of unwanted hope through me. "I'm not Peaches, Henry. My name is…."

"Olivia," he breathes softly. "Yes, I'm aware."

"So, stop with the nickname."

"Just… please. I… I need to make sure you're okay."

He holds out his right hand, palm facing upward, as his lips hold an unsure half-smile.

"Why?"

I look at him, uncertain, and try—oh my God, do I try—to remember all of the reasons I shouldn't take his hand and run a million miles at light speed away from this man.

His brow furrows, as though confused by my question. "I just need to."

And I can't find it in me to care about the rationale of why I should stay away. Not one single iota.

I've given chase, and Henry has caught me, albeit in a moment of weakness. Maybe it's just time to succumb.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Henry

When Olivia had steamrolled into my meeting on Monday, I don’t think I’d ever been as turned on in my fucking life. She had no idea how fucking sexy she looked with her long blonde locks sporting a delicious just-been-fucked look, eyes flashing blue flames, and her demand to see me with no care for the onlookers. Fuck me. She was glorious.

The fact that I had no clue what promotion she was talking about didn’t even enter my mind.

It had been a natural reaction of my default dick mode to insult her and push her away.

I had stayed away from her for two damn years in a wholly misguided attempt to honour a dead man’s wishes, regarding the lifetime of mistakes he’d made with his youngest son. But when I finally grew the gall to ask Alex if they were an item, he had claimed they were just friends. Those words had sent my hopes soaring and pushed me to finally make a move.

I’ll never know exactly why I sent those blue roses that night. I had seen on some spam email that I usually just bin without ever reading that blue roses signify attaining the impossible, or to hopeless romantics, which I most assuredly am not, love at first sight.

Whatever the reason, I had just been compelled to send them, like I hadn’t been given a choice.

I’d known from Alex that she was his date, and while it had eaten me up inside, I couldn’t help myself from a small show of remembrance of having the band play Otis Redding, her pupils widening in recognition, fanning the flames of longing she stoked within me.

She’d watched 12 Monkeys since that night.

I hadn’t been able to restrain myself from claiming such a significant moment with her. Even though my brother’s actions and the angry, territorial words exchanged when I had made my intentions known had belied his claims from earlier in the week of them being “just friends.”

The way I could feel him staring daggers into the back of my head as I’d moved across the floor with her had definitely felt like there was something between them. The possibility of them together, laughing, kissing, touching—fucking... it made me lose my fucking head.

I wanted to rage against my promise to the man who’d all but ignored me in life, forcing me to clean up his fucking mess.

I wanted to crumble in the face of possibly losing what little relationship I had recovered with my brother forever.

I wanted her more than I needed my next breath.